


Comfort Food

by Scout924



Series: Stucky Ficlets [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky loves a good pair of socks, Cooking, Domestic, Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, Pancakes, Sign Language, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, mute!bucky, recovering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 17:06:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scout924/pseuds/Scout924
Summary: Steve makes Bucky pancakes, because that's what you do.





	Comfort Food

**Author's Note:**

> Mainly a fluffy continuation of “But You Were Always Gold to Me,” but it can be stand-alone, if you squint real hard. Also I’m watching a Die Hard marathon while writing this. Do with it what you will.

A few days after Bucky comes back to the apartment, Steve sneaks out of his bedroom as quietly as possible, trying not to rouse the man across the hall. He's been doing this every morning, trying to let Bucky get as much sleep as possible, which takes a bit of convincing and trickery on his part. He thinks the supersoldier is on to him.

Steve stands in the hallway, trying to hear Bucky's breathing through the door. He’s pretty sure the man is still asleep or just very good at playing possum, though either is feasible.

Satisfied, he silently moves to the kitchen. He’s been trying to get as much protein as possible into Bucky, who does not seem to be used to eating more than once a day, a thought which makes Steve’s stomach turn.

Bucky’s told him he’s been trying a lot of things, trying to figure out what foods he used to like. Steve thinks back to the fruit Bucky had been buying that day at the street vendor as he picks through his bare refrigerator, looking for something sweet.

He hasn’t left the house again since he brought Bucky back on Christmas Eve. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that if he does, Bucky may not be there when he gets back. Plus, aren’t his friends always telling him he deserves to lay around in his underwear for a few days? He’ll consider this taking his well-earned Christmas vacation.

His phone dings somewhere on the counter, and Steve shies away from it. He’d gotten a litany of texts from various Avengers yesterday, begging him to come eat with them: at Stark Tower, with Sam and Natasha, even from Clint and his family. Steve had peered over the couch at a sleeping Bucky and told them he’d rather spend a quiet evening in catching up on Christmas movies. He wonders how much longer he can hide Bucky in his apartment until one of his teammates comes barging in.

He spies an unopened bottle of pancake syrup in the pantry and gets an idea for Bucky’s taste testing. By the time he’s mixed eggs, flour, milk, and a few other ingredients he reads off a very worn notecard, he hears the bedroom door open. Bucky lurks in the doorway, eyes guarded and chest bare, a pair of Steve’s sweatpants hanging loosely off his hips. Steve notices he still wears the thick ski socks from his first day in the apartment.

“Want some pancakes, Buck? I haven’t had any in ages.”

Bucky’s grey eyes are curious, and he pads closer, watching as Steve tests the consistency of the batter. He puts a pat of butter in the pan, swirls it around so it melts.

“You might have to help me. You know I’m no good at cooking. First time I got my own place after I got out of cryo, I set the damn fire alarm off. Good thing they didn’t have those back in the day. We would have had the fire department up there weekly.”

Bucky slides onto the counter, the corner of his lip turned up. He cocks an eyebrow at Steve, and Steve turns back toward the sizzling pan to hide his blush.

Bucky picks up the yellowed recipe card Steve’s been using and points to it, eyes questioning.

“Recognize that?” Steve asks, pouring what turns out to be too much pancake batter in the pan.

Bucky studies the card, then brings his thumb to his chin, fingers open and splayed. _Your mom’s?_

Steve nods, smile not so sad that Bucky can remember Sarah Roger’s handwriting. “I packed up her cookbook and left it with your Ma when I enlisted. When I came out of cryo, the Smithsonian had it.”

He hears that low chuckle rumble in Bucky’s throat. “What, you seen it?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods, face stretched into a real grin, eyes down. “ _S-H-R-I-N-E_.” He fingerspells.

Steve groans, inspects the pancake. “It is not a shrine. Plus, I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s there’s just as many pictures of your pretty face posted up in that museum as there is of mine.”

He grabs the spatula, trying to figure out how to flip a pancake the size of his head without any mishaps. He glances over at Bucky.

“ _I gotta pretty face?”_ He signs slowly, smirking. Steve shakes his head, heat curling in his gut. He focuses on flipping the pancake, and not the fact that he hasn't kissed Bucky since Christmas Eve, but so desperately wants to. The pancake folds in half, batter splattering over the edge. Steve curses under his breath.

Bucky swipes a metal finger through the spilled batter and tastes it, frowning. 

"It's not sweet, Buck, that's why you eat it with syrup. There's some in the pantry." 

Bucky slides off the counter, makes his way over to the pantry, and thumbs through its contents. He returns with a bag of mini chocolate chips, which he slides next to the batter bowl and lets his bottom lip stick out ever so slightly.

Steve has fought Nazis, aliens, Commys, the whole damn government, and just about every single bully in Brooklyn, but Bucky’s fucking bottom lip knocks him on his ass every time.

He rolls his eyes. Bucky's been in his apartment less than a week and Steve has blushed more than he has in the last damn century. 

"I see you haven't lost your sweet tooth."

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and studies his socked feet, bashful blush coloring his cheeks. Steve can’t hold back the joyous laugh that barks out of him, warming his own. Bucky snatches the burnt pancake straight out of the pan with his metal hand and bites off a fourth of it happily. 

After a myriad of attempts, a large plate of pancakes in various shades of brown are stacked and steaming on two plates. Bucky eats from his perch on the counter, stocking feet crossed beneath him, and Steve stands beside the warm stove. Bucky has poured almost a quarter of the syrup over his breakfast, while Steve holds back a gut-busting laugh. 

"Might as well drink it out of the bottle if you're going to put that much on it, Bucky."

Bucky looks up at him like he's forgotten he's there, one cheek stuffed full of pancake. He raises his eyebrows and looks at the bottle of syrup like he's considering, licking his lips. 

Steve chuckles at him. "You've got it all over you, Buck." He leans over and swipes a sticky drop off Bucky's chin. When he looks back up, Bucky’s eyes flit down to his mouth, blue gaze wide and expectant.

Steve closes the distance and presses his lips to the spot, gently probing the sweetness with his tongue. Moves to the corner of Bucky's mouth and tongues the stickiness there. Then He presses a soft, chaste kiss on Bucky's full lips, and smacks them when he pulls away. Bucky's lips curl up into a slow smile. 

 _Sweet,_ Steve comments, brushing his own chin with his fingertips in sign. 


End file.
